Noir
by power blossom
Summary: A collection of Jack and Elsa's more intimate moments. NC-17, very explicit, basically PWP.
1. Someone's Up

Elsa blinks slowly awake and almost goes back to sleep, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of Jack's chest beneath her, breathing steadily, peacefully—but there's a familiar ache low in her stomach as she shields her eyes from the slivers of morning light sneaking past the blinds.

Memories from last night slowly flood in. She presses her lips to Jack's skin as she recalls pinning his wrists down to the bed when she got back from her meeting with her advisers, smirking at his protests; remembers stripping down and kissing the head of his cock without intentions to take it much further, and then sliding up his body and rocking her hips with his, rubbing her wetness over him. It doesn't matter that it sort of backfired, in the end, Elsa clinging to Jack's chest and arching her back to kiss him and keep her hips moving at the same time, then begging him to fuck her even though she didn't give her mouth permission to say so. Jack did fuck her, tight little thrusts just like they both love, and after they both came, she collapsed on top of him and refused to let him pull out. It's nothing new, but it's always a pleasant surprise to wake up to that fullness, the warmth of Jack's cock, half-swollen in his sleep, inside her.

When he stirs, finally, and makes a low sound, Elsa laughs softly at him. "_Someone's_ up."

"Not my fault you insist on going to sleep like this," he mutters—Elsa isn't sure, but she has a vague suspicion that the words would sound more like an unintelligible grumble to the untrained ear. Elsa, though, is an expert in Jack's morning-speak.

"Mm," Elsa sighs, and tilts her head when his hands trace soothingly up her ribs, bending to kiss his cheek.

Jack yawns in response, cards his fingers through her undone hair and keeps his other hand on her hip at her side, spread out and huge, fingers digging into her ass.

The first time Elsa cants her hips makes them both gasp, and she leans up to grin at him. "Excited to finish trade negotiations tonight?" she asks. It's a thing she does, trying to get Jack to carry out a conversation mid-fuck just to see him furrow his brows in concentration. "We're holing up in bed for a week as soon as that hellish Weaselton man leaves, you know."

Jack hums, and shifts his hips—just a tiny movement, not even up against hers yet, just side-to-side, but it still feels way, way too good. It's harder than usual to concentrate on the cues she's giving him to talk when he's still half-asleep. He frowns up at her, blinking, and shakes his head a bit. "El, please, just."

Elsa huffs, lowers herself with her hands on his chest for leverage and kisses his jaw, grinding her hips down mercilessly. "Just wanted to hear your voice, that's all."

"I'll," he gasps, fingers digging into her thighs as she moves, "talk about you—you feel—just—not, fucking, Weaselton, please."

"Tell me," Elsa shudders, bites her lip to keep a moan in, not quite wanting to give him that yet. "Tell me how I feel, Jack, go on."

Jack nods, quickly, thankfully, and his hands trail up her back, fingertips meeting on her spine from tailbone to nape of her neck like he can't _not_ touch every inch of her like this. "Really," he starts, "really warm, Elsa, so lovely, and you're so—" his face has gone pink now, from exertion or embarrassment or a bit of both, but he bravely goes on, "really tight, El, like I couldn't pull out if I tried, like you wouldn't let me, it's—it's sort of, sort of a lot, but. Really good."

Elsa whines, rocking against him. "Yeah, it's so good," she finally sighs, still a little weighed down from sleep but overwhelmingly needy, trying to push her hips down into Jack's hard enough that she'll maybe get a bit of pressure and friction on her clit. "Come on, _fuck_."

Jack's still filling out to being completely hard, and it almost hurts, because she_ is_ so tight around him, not as wet as she is when they've had a while for messing around before he pushes inside, and her body contracts around him every time his dick twitches, and it's the best kind of good-hurt cycle. Jack settles his hands on her ass again, palming her carefully, and then before he really thinks about it he's raising one hand and smacking her bum, light but surprising, the sound of skin on skin sharp in the lazy morning.

"Oh, fuck," she whines, her milky breasts swinging out from her body with the jolt of the slap. She drops her forehead on his shoulder, surprised and goosebumpy and knowing there's a pink handprint blooming right now, but wanting so much more of that, because _oh_. "Cheeky," she says, trying for teasing and cheeky herself but sounding just kind of desperate. She clenches a bit around him in retaliation, sinks her teeth into his skin and sucks a little, low enough that it won't show above the high collar of his courtier clothes.

"You," Jack says, clears his throat, because as much as he likes pleasing Elsa, he also likes the lead-up, the game, the winning. He slaps her again, harder, and digs his fingers into her ass roughly, spreading her out; dips his other hand between her legs, thumb brushing through her wetness as he rubs a fingertip just below where his cock is pressed inside her. "You want it, you want my dick."

Elsa moans, nods like she can't control it, panting against Jack's skin, trying to push down on his cock and his hand. "So much for being half asleep," she whispers, words tumbling out like last straws, like she can't go out without a fight with morning light streaking across her shoulders and an infuriatingly beautiful boy, full of surprises and familiarity, beneath her.

"Can't," Jack leans up to kiss her lower lip, suck it between his for the shortest moment. "Can't sleep when you're this gorgeous, El. You-you feel so good, can feel it when you move, the drag, can you feel it? It's good, right?"

Nodding in agreement, Elsa slips both hands into Jack's hair, chest flush against his, and tangles her fingers up in his bedhead until they're wrapped up and pressed to his scalp, needy and possessive. She's all too aware of the hot friction of Jack's big dick inside her, toeing the line between painful and perfect. "Jack," she breathes, kisses his chin clumsily, "Jack, touch my clit, it'll get me wet, please."

Jack obeys immediately—god, the way he obeys, when it suits him—still palming her ass with one hand but moving the other to her side, pressing it between their bodies. It's a tight fit, and he has to push her up with his knuckles so he can turn his hand over, get the angle right to rub two fingertips down over her clit. Clearing his throat again, Jack smiles at her, sweetly, "There you go, sweetheart. Rub off on my fingers. I've already given you my cock, should be easy to get nice and wet for me all by yourself, yeah?"

Elsa pulls his hair with a whine, already pushing herself down hard into his hand in a single motion, then shifting in little circles against Jack's fingertips, moving his dick inside her. "So unfair," she huffs, painfully aware that, given last night's events, it's entirely fair of him to do as he pleases with her, take her to the edge and then yank her back if he wants. Despite all her passionate feelings about independence and dominance, Elsa likes when Jack takes charge like this.

"Mmm," Jack grins, and bites his lip, closing his eyes for a moment before glancing up at her. "You just look so gorgeous."

Elsa huffs and rolls her eyes.

"No, really." He pauses, but only briefly, words coming out in a gravelly rush when he opens his mouth again. "You know I like when you use me, like when you get yourself off on me, my dick and my hands and mouth."

"You do have a lovely set of—of those," Elsa shudders, a little incoherent. The next time she rocks her hips down, Jack's cock slides inside her a little easier. It only encourages her to push down harder against Jack's fingers, brows furrowed and muscles taut with exertion, raspy little moans falling from her lips.

Jack can feel as she gets wetter around him, and it's like her body temperature has spiked with the extra arousal, because, "You're getting pretty hot for an ice queen, El," he pants, grinning, "inside, so hot, can feel you—every time you move—" it turns into a moan, because Elsa is pushing herself up, hands on his shoulders, until she's almost completely upright in his lap, still leaning forward enough to grind her clit down on his fingers, but the movement's made her sink further down on his cock, and Jack may not be human any more, but he's weak, weak, weak when it comes to Elsa.

Elsa nods quickly. "Yeah, Jack," and she pulls her lip between her teeth as she lifts her hips a little—sadly away from Jack's fingers— and drops back onto him, skin smacking a little. Jack groans, and she can feel his cock twitch inside her and goes back to grinding.

"Wanna make you come," he decides, spreading his palm on her lower stomach and pushing her back, making her straighten up. He's got his thumb on her clit before she can complain, properly moving it now, instead of making her work for it. Rubbing firm circles around her clit and, every few rotations, directly over it, he watches a warm flush spread down from her neck, lets himself get distracted with the gentle bounce of her chest.

"Before breakfast, even?" Elsa gasps, head falling back and hands petting absently at Jack's chest. "How forward, _shit_, Jack," she moans, whimpers as he angles his hips and hits just the right place inside her as his thumb presses down on her clit. "Jack, I need to come, please—"

"How about twice before breakfast," Jack says, and his thumb slips, presses against where his cock is spreading her open. He drags it back up, spreading a little of her slickness, making her squirm. He can feel muscles tensing in her stomach under his fingers, and he nods, smiles encouragingly. "Come on, El."

It doesn't take Elsa long, anyway, to shudder through her first orgasm of the day, Jack's name spilling past her lips over and over, her whole body pulsing with heat and satisfaction. She's not sure if her arms feel boneless before or after she drops on top of Jack and makes a needy sound, prompting him to kiss her, but it doesn't matter. Jack is still hard inside her, filling her up, stretching her, and it's not the end. "One down," she mutters, almost like it's a chore, but the little kiss she presses to the curve of Jack's collarbone is sweet and eager.

Jack laughs, breathless and so, so gone for her, and he's moved one hand up, arm around her back and shoulders to hold her close, fist his fingers in her hair at the nape of her neck. "You're gorgeous," he says, "I love you. You're so—so incredible, sometimes I can't believe it."

"Shut up," she croaks, but presses a smile against his chest nonetheless. "Get on with it, then."

"I don't want to hurt you," Jack mumbles, quirks his mouth at her as she looks up, "I—" Elsa raises an eyebrow, and he swallows, blinks hard. His voice is lower when he starts again, and he talks slower, more determined. "You're gonna take it so nice, right? You like it, like you can't get enough, like it when I don't stop." He presses the hand not in her hair flat in the small of her back, fingertips spread over her ass, and holds her steady as he rolls his hips up, gives her a quick nod. Yeah?

Elsa whimpers, rocking down slowly, lazily, to meet Jack's thrust, not nearly enough at all. She pats at his skin insistently, like forming words to encourage him takes too much effort when she could be focusing, instead, on pushing down against him. With a deep inhale, she manages to get half up on her knees, enough that Jack slides halfway out, and then flick her hips down, the head of Jack's cock dragging inside her. "_Jack!_"

"Fuck," he whispers, palming her shoulder with one large hand, sliding it to her breast and cupping it firmly, thumbing at her nipple. Elsa makes as if to lift herself again, but he beats her to it, settling his feet flat on the mattress, thrusting his hips up hard.

"Shit," Elsa sighs, tries to lift her shoulders to sit up but Jack won't let her, clutches at her shoulder again and holds her close, sets a slow, steady rhythm. She can still hear the blood rushing in her ears, wound up like her first orgasm did nothing to slow down her heartbeat.

Jack's watching her closely, eyes moving from her face to her chest and lower, between their bodies, before he checks with her again, a tentative smile.

"Only when you're close," Elsa grits out, tilting Jack's head back with a tug at his hair. "Hurry up."

Jack's face crumples like he can't decide whether to laugh. He shudders, head flopping however she guides him by the fist of snowy hair she's got held tight. "Seriously?" he breathes, "El, not fair, I haven't had nearly as long as you, just wanna feel it—"

Elsa shushes at him, literally pulls him into a kiss and bites his lower lip, swiping her tongue over the indents left behind by her teeth as they fade off. "Jack, it's my turn," she mutters, almost like she's explaining it to a child. "And I want you to come. I want to come with you," she amends, and then nods, resolute, and grinds against him.

Jack leans up, chasing the kiss, eyes closed, and his hands meet at the arch of her back now, pulling her against him as he loses rhythm, speeding up. "Now," he gasps, and she can feel his muscles tensing under her, "Now, please?"

Gasping out a laugh, Elsa nods, drops her head on his shoulder. "Yeah, Jack."

Jack leans up impossibly further, pressing his nose into Elsa's neck, groaning, and he's gone, just like that, pulling her down onto his dick as hard as he can and hips churning so roughly they'll both have bruises in a day.

Elsa is still half-giggling with pleasure as Jack fucks her through it, shivering at the warmth and fullness that's got her so close to the edge again, already. Without much thought she sneaks a hand down to rub quick, careless circles at her clit, and she comes before Jack's even stopped moving inside her, squeezing around his sensitive cock, both moaning with it, spent and happy.

Jack is still rolling his hips into hers when he rolls them over, eases out of her with a heavy sigh. He flops beside and half on top of her, face in the crook of her neck, arm slung over her waist, one leg hitched at her hip. "Babe," he says around a yawn, not really a prelude to anything, and rubs his foot against hers lazily.

"You're heavy," Elsa says, not an ounce of accusation or disgruntlement to it. She slips a hand into Jack's hair again—gentle this time, at his nape, carding through it—and watches the sunlight crawling up his pale shoulders from between the blinds through half-lidded eyes. "Good morning."

Making a soft sound, Jack tilts his head into her touch, presses his lips to her neck. "Morning." His voice is raspy, and he has to clear it repeatedly, which turns into a laugh against Elsa's arm.

Elsa rolls her eyes and hums, content. The combination of Jack's sleepy morning demeanor with his afterglow makes him silly, pliant. "Got bossy for a sec there, love."

"Seemed appropriate," Jack shrugs, wriggles off to the mattress beside her, because even if he knows she was joking about his weight, he knows Elsa overheats easily, and doesn't want to make her grumpy.

"I don't know, Frost," Elsa smirks at him, rolling over onto her side, facing him. "You seemed to get really into it. Bit intense." She can only keep a straight face for a second, long enough for Jack's brows to knit together, before she's laughing, the sound of it light and airy.

"Hey," Jack says, poking her stomach. "You could've said if you didn't like it."

"There's a reason I didn't," Elsa points out, wrapping her hand around his finger and then simply lacing their fingers together. "Don't let it go to your head, though, yours is inflated enough already."

Jack sticks his tongue out at her. "Mmmf." He spreads their tangled hands on his stomach and kisses her cheek, settles his head back on the pillow next to hers. "I'll ask for breakfast to be sent in later, if you like."

Elsa wriggles, pleased, and nods. "Sounds good."

In a bit. Now, though, it's morning, and Jack's all warm and sleepy skin next to Elsa. Everything else can wait.


	2. Easy Rider

And just when things are getting there, when the angle's just right, Jack lets go of her and lies back down, folding an arm behind his head, all relaxed and easy, as if he's lounging by the side of a pool, somewhere, and not interrupting a good, hard fuck.

"What?" Elsa snaps, feeling her thighs spasm. Jack's still inside her, which is completely unfair, because Jack was pushing up into her just a second ago, brutal, vicious spikes of movement that fucked Elsa right open, and now that she _is_ open, Jack's just—what? Doing his best impression of a centerfold? What the hell?

"Nothing," Jack says, and just… lounges there, sweat pooling in his clavicle, chest rising and falling way too slowly for what they've been doing. Goddamn immortal Guardians and their goddamn stamina.

"Uh, hello?" Elsa's hips still ache where Jack had been gripping them, holding her still, keeping her where Jack wanted her, helpless under the onslaught of a fucking that might have broken a less sturdy bed. "I feel that it's my civic duty to inform you that you've got the whole sex thing wrong."

"Wrong?" Jack doesn't even sound concerned; his eyes are dipping, like he's already half-asleep. Is he serious? No way. _No_ way. Jack's still hard, isn't he? Rock-hard, even. Elsa doesn't even have to clench up to know that.

"Very wrong. Shouldn't the teasing come before the sex, not during? Especially not, like, one second before the other person comes?"

"Some people are into that."

"Well, I'm not, and you're into me, like, literally into me, so I suggest you get your act together right now."

"You do it."

Elsa's heart thumps. "What?"

"I'm tired." Jack's eyes are lazy half-moons, pale blue and clear. "You do it."

So that's what—and just because—

"Or we could go to sleep," Jack suggests, offhandedly, and the bastard would totally do it, too, because he's a bastard. "It's been a long day."

"If by 'long day' you mean yet another peace summit where I was obligated to listen to the King of the Southern Isles defend his scumbag sons for twelve hours and demand Hans' release from prison, which I just barely rambled my way out of—no thanks to you, by the way, maybe try actually participating in state affairs once in a while—then, yes, it's been a long fucking day, Jack. But without the actual fucking. A situation I was hoping to remedy tonight, before you went and—"

"Ride me," Jack says, and it isn't an order, but it sure as hell isn't a request. Elsa doesn't know what it is.

"Is this Spring Kinks on Unsuspecting People Day? Because I wasn't aware that we'd completed our standard kink negotiation."

"Or," Jack says, again, "we could just sleep."

Elsa narrows her eyes.

Jack just breathes deeply, calmly, and watches her right back.

"You're being ridiculous," Elsa accuses—no, observes—because it's an absolutely accurate observation. It's a statement of fact.

Jack doesn't even attempt to defend his non-existent virtue. Instead, he tilts his head at her, absently drawing his hand down her thigh. "Are you wet enough? Do you need to touch your clit some more?"

She probably does need to. But she won't. Not because she likes the burn, and not because the friction always makes Jack flush a little more hotly, thrust a little more desperately. Nope. She's not going to, because she's just not going to. She flips her hair over her shoulder. The end. "No."

"It'll be rough," Jack warns her. "That position's—"

"Shut up, you're the one that picked _'that position.'_ Don't pretend to be all concerned, now."

So Jack shuts up. And, infuriatingly, waits, like the pause doesn't cost him anything at all, while Elsa closes her eyes and gathers her courage. Having it done to her is totally different from doing it, herself. Not to flatter Jack, or anything—the guy's arrogant enough as it is—but Jack's big. Really big. And sitting on him like that, all the way inside Elsa, will make him feel even bigger.

"Fine," Elsa says, opening her eyes, steeling herself. "Fine. Okay," she mutters, and lifts up.

The drag of Jack's dick out of her makes her whine, stupid and loud, but the journey downward makes her babble. "_Jack!_ Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck."

"Slow down," Jack says, voice just this side of tight. His hand comes up to her ribs, thumb rubbing over her nipple, but his sudden gentleness only strengthens Elsa's resolve.

"Fuck you."

"It's the other way around, actually."

"Oh my god, you're such an asshole. Shit. Fuck— " Elsa digs her fingers into Jack's chest, hard enough to make Jack hiss, even though Elsa can't hurt him, not the way Jack's hurting her.

"Slow. Down."

"The hell with that," Elsa wheezes, and rises back up. She lets her determination fill her, ignoring the flares of doubt and self-consciousness. It's not like Jack will mind if her breasts bounce all over the place. "I do what I want."

"You're being an idiot."

"You're the one who wanted it like this." And down again. "Oh. Oh, god, oh, god—"

"Jack," he corrects, grinning like the self-satisfied bastard he is, and Elsa scratches him in response, nails biting into his skin, and Jack's hips twitch.

"L-let's see if you can keep this up," Elsa challenges, "just lying there, making me do all the work. I bet you want to fuck me, hmm? Bet you want to move? Well, too bad. You said you wanted me to ride you, so I'm riding you, and I'm going to ride you until you come, but you're not allowed to move, at all."

"Since when are you calling the shots?"

"What, do you think just because you're a Guardian you're in charge of me? Do you? So _lame_, oh my god—"

"It's not—"

"That's the only claim to authority you have, Jack, and it doesn't work on me." Elsa fucks herself on Jack's dick the way she wants to, fast and rough, even though it's new and scary and strange. Each downward thrust feels like she's being cored, like she'll split down the middle and scream, but Elsa just takes those screams and turns them into garbled strings of curses, cursing Jack for being so big, for being so stubborn, for being so _him_—

They've never done it like this, largely because Elsa has never had the guts to say she'll ride Jack, and Jack never brought it up. She was right, this is terrifying, a piercing agony turning sharp and sweet at just the right depth, sending sparks through Elsa that make her limbs jerk, that make her cunt clench in a way that hurts worse, better, _something_.

She only realizes she's screaming because her throat feels hoarse, her mouth hanging open, because she can't shut it, can't stop making noises, can't stop looking at the wild, piercing blue of Jack's eyes, the way his lips are shaping around her name.

"That's right," she whispers, "I know you want to f-fuck me, Jack, you want, but you—you can't, I won't—" let you, she doesn't get to finish, because Jack's cock scrapes against that spot inside her that makes Elsa judder and lose control, for a moment, so that instead of sliding down, she just sits, suddenly, all the way, Jack's dick filling her in one violent shove that makes her muscles abruptly give. The jolt of it makes her come, arching uncontrollably and pouring out onto Jack's flexing abs, the shock slamming into her and leaving her gasping, breathless, watching herself spill as if from far away.

And when she's limp, boneless, breathing raggedly, when she's just a bit of used-up skin-and-muscle and can't bring herself to stay upright, _then_ Jack flips her over, face-down and trembling, and drags Elsa's ass hips up and pounds into her. Her eyes roll up as her face gets pushed into the pillow, her mouth mashed against it as she lets out low, near-soundless grunts at every thrust, every lurch, her still sensitive nipples sending lingering jolts of heat down her spine as they chafe against the sheets.

Jack comes, with a subvocal groan that he buries in Elsa's hair.

Elsa takes it gladly, her cunt feeling soft and wet and used and good, so good, the bruising ache better than anything in the world. It's more vulnerable than being unarmed, more naked that being unclothed, and Jack gives this to her so easily, helping her unwind without Elsa even knowing that she needed to.

The room spins around her when Jack pulls out and turns her around for a kiss. "Sweetheart," he murmurs, all the lust drained away in favor of quiet affection. He's such a sap after sex.

Elsa mumbles. Something. She's too tired to kiss back, so she lays there and lets Jack kiss across her cheek and down her throat and her collarbone. The afterglow fades slowly in as Jack's hands digs into her waist with the sort of possessiveness that would be adorable if it weren't just plain dumb, because it's not like Elsa is going anywhere. Hell, after a ride like that, there's no way she can walk.

"Tired," Elsa yawns, finally, when Jack relaxes his hold on her and spoons behind her, his sticky chest curved around Elsa's back. They both need to clean up, but Elsa is damned if she's going to get out of this bed. Ever. Jack and the rest of the queendom can just carry on without her. She's going to laze her life away.

Jack hums agreement and exhales against her neck, a prolonged, quiet sigh of satisfaction, then tucks Elsa closer to him as they drift off to sleep.


	3. The Late Show

genderswap highschool au

* * *

Jackie has never had a boyfriend before, so when she and Elsir start dating during her senior year of highschool, it isn't like she has any frame of reference for how these things are meant to go. It all seemed so simple and obvious last month, when she just sort of suddenly decided she _could not take it anymore_ and hurled herself at Elsir, fiercely determined despite her certainty that she was about to be thrown violently into a wall.

(Jackie _did_ end up hitting a wall that day, actually, but only because Elsir pushed her up against one in order to kiss her harder, which was a different matter entirely and well worth the mild bruising Jackie sustained from it.)

And it's been nice, since then. It really has. Elsir openly prioritizes Jackie now, putting her first and listening to her most; it drives Anna, Hiccup, and the rest of their friends absolutely insane, and makes Jackie perpetually smug. When they're alone, Jackie sees a side of Elsir she's only suspected of existing before, patient and funny and shockingly warm. Instead of scowling when Jackie makes jokes, he'll release these soft, helpless little smiles, and Jackie treasures those like the rare gifts that they are.

It's just.

There's been no bruising, is the thing, after that first time. It's not that Elsir doesn't kiss her. Elsir kisses her hello whenever they meet and goodbye whenever they part—dry, warm presses of lip to lip that always end in Jackie leaning forward and Elsir leaning away. Elsir kisses her every single day like it's already a habit. Like they're married.

And kissing is all he ever does, and Jackie is going to _die._

So maybe she isn't firing on all cylinders when she implements the Secret Seduction Plan™, but that's hardly her fault. That's Elsir's fault. People with perfect faces and constant sex hair and nice-sounding laughs and lean muscles can't just go around kissing 18-year-old virgins without even _trying_ to have sex with them; it's downright irresponsible, and not at all fair.

Ergo, the Secret Seduction Plan™, Phase One of which involves putting things in her mouth when Elsir is around and trying to get him to notice.

(It's not a very elegant or detailed plan, it's true, but Jackie's brain has actually collapsed under the crushing weight of pent-up lust and it's truly the best she can do under the circumstances.)

She begins with the classics—lollipops, popsicles, etc. But matter how methodically she licks and sucks, even throwing in a tiny moan or two for effect, Elsir never even so much as glances at her. The closest Jackie ever comes to eliciting a response is when she tries eating an ice cream cone after school while waiting for Elsir to finish football practice, but that's probably only because she drops it all over herself and everybody laughs at her.

"Shut up," Jackie groans as Merida actually falls over beside her and rolls around on the ground. "There's no way it was that funny."

"It actually was," says Elsir. "You looked so sad." And he's got one of those soft smiles on, so the day hasn't been a total wash. Elsir turns his attention back to Hiccup, showing him some kind of fancy tackle, so Jackie sighs and surveys the damage. Seriously, chocolate fudge _everywhere_. She licks a swath along the inside of her arm, from below her wrist all the way up to the tip of her middle finger, because that was some seriously decent ice cream and she's not wasting more of it than she has to.

"Ow, fuck, Elsir!" Hiccup is saying, and Jackie looks up in time to see Elsir dazedly standing up off of Hiccup and helping him to his feet.

"Sorry," Elsir says, eyes darting around guiltily. "I didn't… sorry. I got carried away."

"That doesn't usually happen with you," Hiccup points out, rubbing at his ribs with a wince. "Like, ever, actually."

"I lost my focus for a minute," Elsir says. "It won't happen again. You have chocolate pretty much all over your mouth, Jackie."

"Do I?" Jackie starts to wipe it off, and then—stops. "You noticed?"

Elsir shrugs. "You're wearing an entire double scoop on your face, it's hard to miss." But Jackie can see that his ears are ever-so-slightly red, and she crows silently to herself. Victory.

The next part of the plan is clothes, which Jackie objectively knows very little about. She eventually decides to cave and let Rapunzel help her out, though she puts her foot down buying a miniskirt. Borrowed jeans are just fine, thank you very much.

"I brought you ginger ale," Elsir says as he's coming into Jackie's room to help her study later that week. "And no, you're not allowed to mix it with your father's—what are you _wearing._"

"Um, well." Jackie thinks she looks pretty okay, actually. She has a pair of Rapunzel's black jeans on, a bit tighter and lower on her hips than she's used to, and a snug grey Ramones t-shirt that she hasn't worn since before her last growth spurt. "Just trying something new, I guess." She gives a slow spin, trying for a careless confidence that she doesn't actually feel. "Thoughts?"

Elsir scowls at her, which, rude much? "Change into something else." After a second where Jackie doesn't move, he adds, "Please."

"What?" Elsir actually sounds distraught, which is so very far from what Jackie was going for. "Why?"

"Because—the shirt smells like mothballs," Elsir says. "Very strongly. Get something else." He shakes himself and leans forward, gingerly, pecking Jackie on the cheek. "Please. Sorry I snapped. I'll get your chemistry flashcards ready."

"Okay, yeah," Jackie says, hope deflating. She thinks about throwing one last Hail Mary and stripping off right in front of Elsir, but she loses her nerve at the last minute and takes a change of clothes to the bathroom down the hall.

It takes another week of similar maneuvers—draping her body into suggestively submissive shapes, slowly rubbing sunscreen into her neck, licking the steamed milk from her cappuccino off of her thumb—before Jackie comes to a conclusion that has honestly never occurred to her, but maybe should have:

It's possible, even probable, that Elsir just isn't that into her.

And that sucks, it really does, but it would not have sucked nearly as much if Eslir hadn't entered into this whatever-it-was with Jackie and made it seem like they were together on this, like they were feeling all the same things. But that first kiss seems like a fever dream, now, chilled by the reality of chaste, feather-light tokens of depressingly platonic affection.

Elsir has been humoring her, apparently, and maybe he thinks he's being nice but he's not. It's the cruelest thing anyone's ever done to her, actually, and Jackie marches right over to Elsir's house to tell him so.

"I'm done with this," Jackie yells as soon as she walks though Elsir's door. "Done! Do you hear me? I will not be pandered to. It's insulting. Fuck you."

"Okay, I'm out," Anna says, hopping up off the couch and squeezing past Jackie's shoulder. "Text me when you guys figure your shit out."

"Whoops," Jackie says, and blushes for a moment before she gathers herself. No blushing. Only righteous anger.

"Uh, hi?" Elsir appears suddenly from the hallway, and Jackie's life _sucks_ because he's not even wearing a shirt. He's got sweat beading in the hollow of his throat, like maybe Jackie just interrupted a workout, and this is the most unfair day in the history of time. "What's wrong? What did I do?"

"What did you do?" Jackie throws her arms out dramatically. "You didn't do _anything_. I'm not an idiot, okay. I know I'm not anyone's centerfold or anything, but I thought—" She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands viciously. "You kissed me, okay, like _that_, like I've never—and it felt like—I thought maybe you'd thought about it, thought about me the way that I—I think about you. I have, for what seems like forever, and it just keeps getting worse. I think about your shoulders and your skin and your hips, and your mouth and your hands, your _hands_, Jack, and I want—"

"What do you want," Elsir says, moving closer, like it's just that easy.

"You _know_ what I want, you jerk. I want your hands on me, I want you all over me, all the time, and I—" Jackie rolls her eyes against the slight sting of tears, because god, how embarrassing. "I don't want whatever this is, I don't want your pity. I want someone who can't keep off of me, okay, because being with you and not touching you is the absolute fucking _worst_ and I need someone who understands what that feels like, I need—"

"Jackie," says Elsir, like he's in pain, and Jackie just doesn't want to hear it.

"I know, I know, and it's okay." Jackie snorts. "Well, it's not okay. It's awful. But we're friends, and that's good." She squeezes her eyes shut, hands clenched into stoic fists. "It's important, more important than anything, so you don't have to keep—"

Jackie has to break off because Elsir's mouth is on hers and suddenly they're up against the wall again, and oh, that's how Jackie remembers it, the curve of her spine aching with the pressure as Elsir pushes into her, and Elsir's hands are running up and down Jackie's body like he can't decide where he wants to touch most, and his tongue is desperate and seeking like he _understands_, like he wants it just as much—

"I, hnngaaaaa," Jackie gasps, flailing a little as Elsir bites at her ear and then licks along the edge. "I'm guessing there's been some kind of, ah, miscommunication here—"

"Ugh," Elsir groans. "Just… I was trying to be nice, you moron. Why didn't you just ask. You're always…" Elsir is struggling with Jackie's t-shirt, but Jackie has actually forgotten how his arms are supposed to work. "You always, you've always told me what you wanted from me, before, how was I supposed to—Jackie, get this off."

"Okay, just—" But before Jackie can gain control over her limbs, Elsir whips it up over her head, throwing it on the floor somewhere behind him. "Hey, caveman much?" Jackie complains faintly, just for form's sake, and Elsir. Elsir's eyes are wandering from her bra (god, why couldn't she have worn her nice lace one today?) to her stomach and back up to her throat, eager and hungry, and Jackie can't stop shaking. "Yeah," she breathes out as Elsir puts both of his huge hands on her at once, deliberate and firm, dragging down her sides to her waist in one possessive slide.

"Can I," Elsir says, stopping with his fingers hooked in the top of Jackie's jeans, and she just gives him the dirtiest glare she can manage and fumbles the button open herself. Elsir leans in and drops his forehead against Jackie's collarbone, panting and gazing down at Jackie's fingers as they work at the zipper.

Jackie laughs and tries a timid bite to the base of Elsir's neck, because it's right there, and Elsir chokes out a soft, high little moan. It's so unlike anything Jackie has ever heard out of him before that she pretty much has to bite him again in the same spot, except a lot harder.

"Jackie," Elsir says, and hauls her in by her belt loops for a time-stoppingly glorious moment of friction on her clit when their hips bump together.

"Okay, okay," Jackie gasps, shimmying a little bit to help Elsir pull her jeans down and off, right over her shoes because the idea of stopping to untie them is physically painful. "Now how do you want to—whoa."

Elsir hoists her up off the floor by the backs of her thighs and insinuates himself between them, using the wall for leverage. Jackie's hands land on Elsir's biceps, and she can feel the strength holding her up in the flexing curve of the muscle—along with little twitches and tremors that don't seem to be exertion-related at all.

"Legs, around me," Elsir says, but it comes out sounding more like a plea than an order, so Jackie is happy to do it. With some helpful manhandling, she gets her legs hiked up over Elsir's hips and her ankles hooked together, and then he's kissing her again, wet and frantic, grinding her into the wall in firm, devastating pulses. The zipper of his jeans is a little bit painful where it's pressing against Jackie through her underwear (because they forgot about Elsir's pants, right, this whole sex thing has a lot of logistics that neither of them seem competent enough to handle right now), but the edge of discomfort is pretty heavily outweighed by the fact that Jackie can also feel the bulge of Elsir's cock, hot and hard, right up against her.

Suddenly the pressure is gone, though, and mother_fuck_, that's his hand sliding between them, straight down until he has a finger rubbing at Jackie's clit.

"In, in, in," Jackie chants, throwing her weight back against the wall so Elsir stumbles toward her. "Hurry up."

"Bossy," Elsir says, but he gets two fingers pressed together and presses up into her anyway, kissing her before she has the chance to moan.

All of this is a lot to take in, Jackie thinks, and then laughs. Elsir grins at her, eyes blown wide, and curls his fingers. Jackie's thighs jerk.

"Good?" he says, smirking.

"Shut up and get me off," Jackie says, and leans up for a kiss.

Elsir gives her one, biting at her bottom lip and twisting a third finger inside her. Her bra is still on and her nipples have gotten so sensitive that when Elsir hikes her up higher the drag of them makes her gasp. He notices, because of course he does, and purposely does it again, catching her tongue with his and swallowing her whimper.

She eventually has to wrench her mouth away from the kiss because her lungs are burning for lack of breath. She clutches Elsir by the hair and breathes in heaving gulps, pressed open-mouthed into his shoulder. "I think," she gasps, "I mean yeah, fuck, I'm definitely gonna come, like now, sorry, if you could just, _Elsir_—"

"Yes," Elsir sighs happily, right against her throat—and the way his stubble scrapes against the tender skin there ends up being all Jackie needs, and then she's crying out and shaking apart in Elsir's arms. Elsir works his hand back to her clit anyway, just in time to pull one last body-wracking shudder out of her, and Jackie accidentally smacks her head against the wall as she writhes with the force of it.

"Ow," Jackie says. "Mmmmmph."

"Shit, are you okay?" Elsir is chuckling softly while he prods into Jackie's hair, like he's checking for an injury. He buries his nose under Jackie's chin and just sort of holds her contentedly for a long moment, and when he finally draws back his smile is so big and bright that it's actually hard to look directly at him.

"_Oh_ yeah," Jackie says. "I'm great. I'm fantastic. Now put me down, I have a plan."

Elsir bursts out laughing and eases her gently down until her feet touch the floor, and then cracks up again when he has to prop her up to keep her standing. "You're going to give me a complex," Jackie grumbles, and Elsir shakes his head.

"I'm just happy," he says, simple and easy, and wow, Jackie didn't think she could feel any better in this moment but there goes Elsir, proving her wrong again. "So what's the plan?"

"This," says Jackie. She grabs Elsir by the hips and spins him until his back is against the wall, and then she drops to her knees.

"You don't, uh," Elsir is saying, wide-eyed, as Jackie tugs his jeans and boxers down to his ankles. "You really don't have to—"

"I really do," Jackie says. She licks her lips and stares, enthralled. Elsir's cock looks huge at eye-level like this, curving up to his stomach and flushed dark with blood. She reaches out, and Elsir starts groaning before Jackie even touches him, which is probably the most gratifying thing that's happened to her in her entire life so far. "So you're going to have to bear with me a little," Jackie says, grasping the base carefully, "because I have no idea what I'm doing at all."

Elsir makes a choked sound and presses his palms into the wall. "Trust me. It's not going to be hard."

"I don't know, it looks pretty hard to me," Jackie says, grinning, and she gets to hear Elsir's laugh morph into a low, drawn-out moan when Jackie gets her mouth on him.

She can't go down very far, and the whole no-teeth thing always seemed easier in theory than it turns out to be in practice—but Elsir is making sharp, hot little sounds whenever Jackie drags her mouth up his length, and the occasional scrape of teeth actually seems to be a positive thing in this case, judging by the way he hisses and clutches at the back of her head the first time it happens.

"Is it," Jackie pulls back and looks up Elsir's body, checking. "Is this okay, should I—"

"Oh my god, don't stop, why are you stopping," Elsir says, his eyebrows furrowing in distress, and okay, that answers that. She goes back in, bracing her other hand against the straining muscles of his stomach, and improvises a sort of tongue-twist thing as she pulls up that has Elsir sagging against the wall.

"Jackie, you, oh," Elsir's saying, and he actually whines in the back of his throat when Jackie hums in response. "Your mouth, I can't, all of those fucking popsicles, why would you… I thought I was going to _die_."

"Hey, I would have done this weeks ago," Jackie points out, and drags the flat of her tongue roughly up the underside of his cock until she gets to the head. Elsir drops his head back with a helpless noise, and Jackie has to take a break to lean against his hip and smile. "You brought this on yourself," she adds, jerking Elsir firmly just to hear the noises he makes. "We have a lot of catching up to do. We can fuck next."

"Yeah," Elsir agrees. "Yes."

"Then you can eat me out," Jackie says, mostly just as something dirty to say, but then Elsir slams his palm against the wall and goes still and tight, and his thigh trembles like crazy under Jackie's cheek as he comes with a shout.

"Okay," Jackie says, biting her lip against a laugh. She's kind of absolutely covered in come now, all along her jaw and even down her neck, a little bit, dripping between her breasts, and she's so happy she doesn't know what to do with herself.

"Not a word," Elsir says, sliding bonelessly down the wall. He pulls Jackie into his lap for a deep kiss, which should really be gross, considering, but somehow isn't. "I refuse to deal with you being smug about this."

"Oh, I'm going to be smug about this forever," Jackie says, snuggling closer. "I seduced you, fair and square. I wore you down. Admit it."

Elsir huffs. "You did not. I want you all the time, anyway." He noses his way to the back of Jackie's neck. "You didn't actually have to do anything."

"Oh." Jesus. "Well, if it's all the same to you I'm gonna go ahead and be smug about that, then."

"Whatever makes you happy," Elsir sighs, and kisses her on the cheek.


	4. All Eventualities

The first time they have sex, Elsa thinks she's prepared for anything. Like, seriously, all eventualities. She's hyped, she's game, she's been picturing it for ages—Jack's finally going to put his hands on her, and knowing Jack, it's probably going to be kind of intense, and wild in the hottest way, and Elsa is all psyched up and ready to hang on for the ride.

(She even skips wearing her usual corset that day, so that it won't take as long to get out of her clothes the end of the night. Hey, she's all about being helpful. She's just a helpful girl.)

But when it comes down to it, Jack doesn't end up popping any buttons off or tearing any seams. Jack peels her out of his clothes, so slowly and reverently that Elsa eventually gets too overwhelmed and impatient to be self-conscious about the way she's being _gazed_ at.

By the time Jack finally slides inside her, Elsa's senses are so all over the place that she can't even hear the sounds she's making. Her ears are ringing and her pulse is thundering and Jack is just rocking, slow, careful, with one hand spread wide at the small of Elsa's back and the other curled protectively around the back of her thigh, taking her weight, showing her how to just _roll_ into it—

And it's soft, and easy, and even kind of quiet, and those adjectives all objectively sound maybe a little boring compared to what Elsa was expecting, but. But.

Jack's whispering, non-words and praise and thanks and all kinds of embarrassing things that remind Elsa why she's sort of in love with him: _yeah, yes, that's it, that's—you're just, so, I can't, oh._

And when he moves a hand to Elsa's clit he looks right into her eyes, and he's biting his fucking lip and Elsa can _feel_ it when the hand on her spine curls into a shaky fist against her skin.

"Are you close?" Jack says, shuddering a little, _still whispering,_ sliding his whole arm around Elsa's waist to pull her in tighter. "Are you, tell me, can you—"

"Yes, oh my god, _Jack_." Elsa makes herself loosen her death-grip on Jack's arms so she can grab the back of his neck, pressing their foreheads together, fighting to keep her eyes open.

Jack comes first, and it's so gorgeous Elsa kind of wants to cry. And then he presses a grateful, trembling kiss under Elsa's chin, and for some reason that's what makes her come so hard she breaks the quiet mood by shouting in Jack's ear.

"Ow," Jack murmurs, shifting closer and generally making no effort to remove his weight from Elsa's heaving chest. "My eardrum."

"Shut up, you big baby," Elsa slurs, hiding her gross soppy smile against Jack's shoulder.


	5. Midlife Crisis

Jack takes one look at the motorcycle parked in the driveway and feels his stomach swoop with dread.

"Nice, right?" Elsa is saying, running her hand over the polished chrome, and Jack just—

"Are you deeply unsatisfied with your life?" he asks, urgently.

Elsa blinks at him. "Am I…"

"Except, it's a little early for your midlife crisis," Jack continues; "but, we did just lose our kids in the market again last week, and that probably aged you an extra five years, at least—you've got gray hairs, even, did you know? Though they're kind of hard to see considering your hair's white anyway. But listen, it's normal to feel smothered by domesticity at some point, I've always heard, but I just don't understand why you wouldn't _talk_ to me about it, sweetheart, because we can _work through this_!"

"You're having this entire discussion without me," Elsa says, leaning grumpily against the handlebars. "Also, happy anniversary."

"Oh crap, I forgot again," Jack says, dropping his face into his hands. "I guess that's why you pawned the girls off on Anna tonight."

"Mmhm."

"I thought it was because you wanted to be free like an unfettered desert breeze on your sexy Harley," Jack admits. "Which, okay, you still haven't explained the sexy Harley."

"It's just rented," Elsa says. "I thought maybe I could take you for a ride; there should be a good view of the sunset up at Inspiration Point."

"When you say a ride, do you mean a ride or…" Jack waggles his eyebrows. "A ride?"

"Both," Elsa says firmly, and Jack gulps at the sharp grin she gives him.

"_El_sa. Did you plan a sexy teenaged fantasy motorcycle date for our anniversary?"

"I'm regretting it now," says Elsa.

"Nononono, I'm down, this is awesome, I've always wanted to be a biker."

"You have not."

"I have unfulfilled fantasies you've never dreamed of," Jack corrects. "Gotta roll 'em out slow, or the marriage'll get stale. Ooh, that's right. Swing your leg over the bike. Do it slow."

"Oh lord," Elsa sighs.

"Now say something biker-ish, like 'hop on, stud!'"

"I absolutely will not do that," Elsa says. Instead, she twists on the seat and pulls Jack onto the back of the bike with one arm, which is, admittedly, way hotter.

* * *

"Teenagers don't actually come to Inspiration Point anymore, right?" Jack says, smirking a little when Elsa cuts his question off with a moan.

"No, I—_ah_—don't think so_," _Elsa says brokenly, because Jack has her bent over the motorcycle seat and is twisting two fingers in her.

"Like, we're not gonna get arrested for this?" Jack presses, watching her blush spread down her neck and darken her rosy breasts.

"I just told you—oh, _fuck_, don't care, faster."

"Slower," Jack says. It's unseasonably cold for October, but they've worked up so much sweat at this point that it doesn't even matter. Elsa's thighs are twitching around his waist and her biceps are straining where she's clutching at the bike; he can almost see actual steam rising up from their skin, and Elsa's nipples have been pebbled since he took off her shirt.

"Please, come on, please," Elsa gasps.

"While we're still young?" Jack teases, but he's feeling impatient too.

"Oh, right, what was that you said about gray hairs?"

Jack huffs out a shaky laugh."That they look super hot on you?"

"Damn right they do," Elsa says, and then she clenches down hard on Jack's fingers and yanks him closer. "Put it in me."

Jack pretends to swoon. "So romantic." But as he closes those last couple inches between them and pushes in, winding his arms around Elsa's back so he can get nearer, his heart beats a little louder, just like it always does.

"Happy," Elsa says, "five years," panting for breath a little as she moves to meet the careful roll of Jack's hips, tightening her grip on his shoulders—even though she rolls her eyes when he refuses to speed up like he knows she wants.

"Can you believe_,_" Jack says, trying to find an angle that will make her shake. She's so _beautiful. _"Did you think—"

"_Ah_, yeah, okay wait—" Elsa pushes up and twists a little, splaying her legs wide on the seat and tugging on Jack's shoulders until he curves over her, and wow. "Okay, you can go—_mmm, _like that."

Jack braces his knees and pushes in harder. He'd smirk at the whimpery, overwhelmed sounds Elsa's making, but he's pretty sure he's being just as noisy as her.

"Did I think," Elsa prompts, tilting her head back. "What?"

"Did you think it would still be this good, that you, that we, _Elsa_—"

"No, I thought we'd get sick of each other pretty fast," Elsa says, her dry tone lacking the usual bite now that her voice has gone all soft and breathy like it does. "That's why I married you."

"Mmm, you did," Jack groans deep and satisfied. He reaches up, gets his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of her neck. "You married me for _keeps_."

"You're such a kid," Elsa says, mocking but fond.

"Kid?" Jack gets his hands underneath her thighs and hikes them up around him, taking her weight so he can give it to her as best he can. "You sure you want to go there?"

"You'd prefer old man?" Elsa's hand slides down Jack's stomach and comes to rest at the top of his thigh, fingers digging in a little as his thrusts deepen and the bike starts rocking more precariously. "You w—won't be able to handle me like this when you're sixty, sweetheart, better enjoy it while you can."

"Challenge accepted," Jack says. "But, I'm not—_fuck_, that's hot," he trails off, mind hazing over as he notices Elsa rubbing gently, almost curiously, at her nipples. "Wait, though, hold on a second. I feel like we're about to tip the bike over?"

Elsa scrunches her face contemplatively. "Yeah, probably."

"Okay, I got it," Jack says. He pulls out, which is the worst, but then he straddles the bike and helps Elsa climb onto his lap, so it all works out in the end. Elsa hums happily as she sinks onto his cock, letting herself fall back a little to brace her shoulders against the curve of the seat. Jack knows they won't topple, that he can hold Elsa's weight—Elsa, whose face is all planes and shadows in the moonlight, and Jack doesn't even know what to do with himself when he looks at her. He feels like he needs to write sonnets or something.

"You're so amazing," he says, sincere in the way that never fails to make her blush even though he's only being honest. "I knew you were it for me like a month after we started dating, you know?"

"Stop," Elsa says, but it's soft and without force and Jack knows she likes it. "Can't we fuck just once without you getting all teary on me?"

"No," Jack says, sliding an arm behind the small of her back and pulling her up so that she falls against his chest. "Just…"

"Yeah," Elsa agrees, eyes slipping closed.

"God I love you," Jack sighs into Elsa's neck, guiding her hips in a steady rise-and-fall while she scrabbles for a better hold on his shoulders.

"Yeah," she repeats, sighing. She works her hips in slow, even rolls, her whole body draped over Jack's. He can hear the tiny hitches of her breath, feel her toes curling against his shins.

"Your feet are cold," he says, like that really matters when he has his fingers on her clit.

"Shh," Elsa says, but before Jack can get offended about it she's kissing him, sliding her hand gently into his hair, her mouth slow and soft and exploratory like it's the first time ever. Like they're still new.

Jack moans into it, low and helpless, and then just wraps his arms tight around Elsa's neck and tries not to do something embarrassing, like cry.

(He does cry, but only a little bit.)

* * *

"Happy anniversary, _sweetheart_," Elsa sing-songs afterward, her nose pressed into Jack's cheek.

"Happy anniversary, El," Jack returns, wobbly-voiced.


	6. Holiday Cheer

_Ring, ring, ring._

"Hi, Jack."

"Hey." Jack backs up against a wall, phone pressed to his ear, to avoid the crush of Christmas shoppers. "Does Anna like those weird foot soap things?"

"...What?"

"I'm at—" Jack pauses, "I don't know, Bath and Body Works or The Body Shop of one of those. Does she like foot soap? I've been watching and the girls her age all seem to be buying it."

"I have no idea," Elsa says.

"Or is that going to make it look like I think she has ugly feet? This is my first Christmas as your boyfriend, I don't want to start off by making your sister think I think she has ugly feet—"

"Jack, Anna loves you. She wouldn't be mad if she thought you thought she had ugly feet, she'd just go straight to the pedicurist and ask you what color of nail polish you prefer."

Jack makes a face before he remembers Elsa can't see him. "Okay, that would be a little weird."

"Yeah," Elsa says, and he strains to catch her laugh. "Probably. But that's not why I called," she continues, the sound of emergency blinkers ticking behind her words. "I need you to come get me."

"You don't want to drive over? Are your tires acting up again?"

"No, I wanted to drive, it's just... I'm, uh, kind of stuck on the side of the road right now."

Jack sets the jar of epsom salt on a glass display shelf with a clink. "Wait, what? You're out in the storm?"

"Yep." Elsa sighs dramatically. Jack imagines her rolling her eyes. "I thought you'd have understood that already, what with me currently being stuck and the sky currently snowing."

"And you're fine? I thought you weren't leaving campus until tomorrow night?" He shoulders his way to the door, Anna's present forgotten for now, and steps into the icy parking lot.

"I'm fine. I just wanted to come early."

"But there's a blizzard!" Jack is freezing. Which might be because he hasn't bothered with his jacket, but still makes him worried for Elsa.

"I know that _now_."

"Hang on a second." Jack pulls on his coat and fumbles his keys into his car, wedging his phone between his shoulder and his ear. "Seriously, what part of 'winter storm warning' made you think this was a good idea?"

"I didn't hear about it," Elsa retorts, petulant.

"Everyone heard about it," Jack says, setting his phone to speaker and dropping it onto the seat beside him. "And I think you'd notice when you went outside. Like, hey, a snow storm!"

"Yeah, well, I was explaining the long term economic fallout of the War of 1812, not watching the Weather Channel, and it was only flurries when I left."

Jack smiles despite himself at the snappishness in her voice as he turns out of the mall parking lot. "You're okay and everything though, right? You didn't crash?"

"No, I just skidded off the road into a ditch. No one's come by, though."

"That's because no one else thought it would be a good idea to drive in this."

"Shut up." There's a steady clacking from her end.

"What was that?"

"Um, just my teeth. It's kind of chilly in here."

"Isn't your heat running?"

"After I went off the road the engine started to smoke. I figured I'd better turn the truck off."

"Fuck." Jack tries not to think about all those hypothermia headlines from last winter. It doesn't work. He drives faster.

"Language," Elsa tsks, teasing.

"I'll say a lot worse if you freeze to death, sweetheart. How far are you?"

"I'm only about half an hour away. In normal driving conditions, anyway."

"Alright, I'm close to the edge of the city. I shouldn't be too long. Do you still have that blanket under the seat?"

"I forgot about it—" a rustle "—but yeah, it's here. I'll wrap up in it."

"Good. I don't want to be dating a human popsicle."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Elsa says.

"No problem. Can you stay on the line until I get there?"

"No problem," she parrots.

They're quiet for a little. Jack's headlights wash over trees heavy with snow, closing in over the empty highway like they're reaching for him. Not many other cars are on the road and the plows haven't come out yet, so Jack eases up on the gas, takes the turns carefully. He doesn't want _both_ of them stranded.

"Wow, it really is nasty out here," Elsa says, breaking the silence. "The road's pretty much an ice rink."

Jack hums in agreement.

"You're being safe?" she adds. "You won't get in an accident or anything?"

"I'm driving twenty under the limit," Jack says. "It's more likely that I'll get a ticket for going too slow than that my tires will slip.

"I guess, but maybe I shouldn't have—"

"No buts. There's nothing to worry about. How're you doing?"

"Not too bad. The blanket warmed me up. Mostly I'm bored."

"That's what you get for not paying attention to the weather report."

"Probably. So, what are you getting me for Christmas?"

"You're so nosey," Jack laughs. "And who said I'm getting you a present?"

"You have to get me something. And no, you can't just wrap yourself in a big red bow."

Jack bites his lip and doesn't respond.

"Jack?"

"Jack? Can you hear me?"

He clears his throat. "Yes. Sorry. I'm here."

"Are you okay? You're not skidding?" Concern laces her questions.

"No, it's not skidding. I told you, I think I'm driving slower than I can run."

"Sorry, sorry. Why didn't you answer me, then?"

"No reason."

"No reason. Right."

"It just wasn't the worst mental image, that's all."

Elsa laughs once, like it's startled out of her, and then dissolves into giggles.

"Ugh. This is why I said no reason, you know."

"Sorry." She's basically cackling; crap, she's going to use that against him _forever_. "But that's so narcissistic it's funny."

"I'm driving through a blizzard to rescue my girlfriend from the side of the road, and all I get is mocked for it. Thanks. I feel loved."

"Come on, you baby, I said I'm sorry."

"Sure," Jack says, drawing it out like he's put-upon.

"No, really," Elsa says, earnest. "You're going way above and beyond the call of duty here and I promise I will find some way to make it up to you."

Jack is silent again.

"God, Jack, not like _that_."

Jack grins to himself. "I know, I totally wasn't thinking that."

"Uh huh. Pervert," Elsa says. "About how far away are you now?"

"Only forty miles, I think, but I'm crawling here." Jack squints out the windshield. "I can't see more than fifty feet in front of me."

"Oh, that sucks. I really am sorry about all this."

"Don't worry about it, El."

Elsa brushes him off. "I should have waited until tomorrow. I meant to surprise you."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I thought you'd like it. I mean, I know it's only an extra eighteen hours of vacation, but still."

"I'd love an extra eighteen hours. I can do a lot with an extra eighteen hours."

"You can?" Elsa asks, on the edge of flirting.

"Yep."

"Like what?"

Jack pauses dramatically.

"Come on, don't leave me hanging," Elsa says. "Like what?"

"I'm not going to say. It'll just get me in trouble."

"Not necessarily."

"Are you getting mysterious with me? What does that mean, 'not necessarily'?"

"Hmm. Nothing. I don't know, I'm really bored."

"Talking to me is boring, huh?"

"Talking to you isn't boring. Talking on the phone just isn't as much fun as talking in the same room. What would you do with an extra eighteen hours?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yes. I really want to know."

Jack heaves a sigh for show, but he can't stop the smirk spreading across his face. At least Elsa can't see it, though to be honest, she probably knows it's there anyway.

"Okay," he starts. "Remember when we were at the lake house?"

"With Anna and Kristoff?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was in May. And they went on that two day hiking trip."

"Of course I remember."

"Well, I was thinking something along those lines."

"That didn't take eighteen hours, though," Elsa says.

"Gee, thanks."

"You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Right."

"I wouldn't want you to do that for eighteen hours. Do you have any idea how sore I'd be?"

"Eh. Maybe that's true."

"Otherwise, though—yeah, that sounds like a pretty good way to spend our extra time."

"It does?"

"Yeah. I missed you a lot, Jack. In lots of ways."

"I've missed you too, sweetheart." Jack lets his voice drop. The smirk is in full force. "In lots of ways."

"I think about you, you know." He can hear her inhale. "And not just, you know, at regular times. I mean. I think about you at other times, too." That catches him off guard, makes him flush. He had only been bantering a little, but now…

"What do you mean?"

"You know. Like, other times."

"You lost me, Elsa." She hasn't, but he wants to hear her say it.

"Nah, forget it."

"No, wait, what?"

"You are so dense."

"What? Come on, now you have to tell me."

"No, Jack."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"Ugh. I just meant—I think about you. When I'm alone. You know. Privately."

Jack's grip on the steering wheel jerks, entirely of his hands' volition, and the tires squeal sharply for a second.

"Jack! Are you okay?"

"Totally. Yes. Sorry, I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"Just skidded a little, that's all."

"I thought you were going twenty under the limit?"

"I am. That was a user error sort of thing."

"Oh?"

"Never mind that. I want to hear about this private stuff."

"Nope. That's not happening," Elsa says, but Jack isn't going to give up that easily.

"Why not? You never told me you did that. Why didn't you tell me you did that?"

"Don't you?"

"Of course I do, I just didn't realize you did! What do you do?"

"Oh my god, we are _not_ going to talk about this."

"Please, Elsa, come on, you can't drop something like that on me and then not give me any details. We're not supposed to keep secrets from each other," Jack wheedles.

"Details? What details? It's just finger movements, Jack, what more do you want to hear?"

_Just finger movements,_ Jack thinks faintly, and asks, "What do you think about?"

"I already said; you."

"That's not an answer," he presses, wondering how far she'll let him go with this. He better get as much out of her unusual candor as he can before she shuts him down. "What do you think about specifically?"

Tinny rustling sounds filter from his phone, and when Elsa speaks her voice is almost covered by them. Jack really needs to figure out how to hook his phone up to the car stereo. "Isn't it kind of a bad time for this?"

"There is never a bad time for this. Tell me?"

"You're a pervert," Elsa sighs, and pauses for a while. She must decide eventually though, because she says, "Okay. Fine. Well, um... I think about the lake house, like I said. And the day when you drove over to help me pack for spring break last year. You know. That kind of thing."

"What about at your apartment?"

"Which time?"

"All of them."

Elsa laughs. "Yes, Jack, I think about that too."

"Which parts?"

"I don't know, it's not like it's an exact science. It's just... whatever I feel like remembering at that particular moment, I guess."

"Okay, so then what do you think about most?"

She hums thoughtfully. "I guess... the time in the garage, probably."

Jack exhales, a little too loudly. "Yeah. That time. I think about that time too."

"You do?"

"Yep. Do you think about the whole thing, or just little bits?"

"Little bits, I guess. Like when I was sitting on the hood of my pickup."

"And I was going down on you?"

"Yeah. That."

"Careful with the blushing. You'll burst a blood vessel."

"Who says I'm blushing?"

"I do," Jack says, purposely being annoying. He swallows his laugh at the aggravated huff Elsa makes.

"You're full of it," she says.

"Nah. I just know because you're you and I'm me."

"I'm going to smack you when you get here."

"That's fair. So you like thinking about me going down on you?"

"Cutting right to the chase, huh?"

"I like thinking about it too," Jack continues. He knows the best way to get Elsa to take part in a conversation she doesn't want to have is to steamroll her into it, and it's always worked before, so there's no reason it won't now. And this is shaping up to be a conversation he really, _really_ wants to have.

"That does it for you?" Elsa asks.

"Yeah, of course."

"I assumed you'd think more about when I'm the one... ?"

"Trust me, sweetheart, I think about that lots too."

"Which time?" Elsa asks, echoing him from a minute ago.

Jack grins. She's playing along. "Tough choice. I think you're always great."

"Flattery won't get you anywhere."

"Ouch. But to answer your question, probably the time in the woods."

"I still can't believe we did that," she laughs. "I got so many bug bites."

"Me too, but it was totally worth it."

"Yeah, but your bites healed in, like, two minutes. Mine took two _weeks_."

"I scratched all the ones you couldn't reach!"

"They still itched. But okay, you're right, it was worth it—"

"Told you so."

"—mostly because I really like giving head."

"You—" Jack coughs. His hands tighten on the steering wheel and he tries to focus on the highway instead of the situation in his jeans. "You do? I mean, you must have at least a little or you wouldn't have done it."

"Yeah, well, you said you like doing it for me, didn't you? It's the same concept."

Jack nods shakily before he remembers Elsa can't see him. "Yes. I—sure."

"I like the look on your face," she says, bolder. "It's one of the things I think about. When I finger myself," she adds, as if Jack could possibly have misinterpreted.

"I. Um. It is?"

"Yeah. You're hot."

Silence.

"Not to inflate your ego or anything." Elsa snorts. "Like you need help with _that_. But you are."

Jack opens his mouth to say something and closes it again when all that comes to mind is _guh?_

Still more silence.

"You're never going to shut up about this, are you?"

"I didn't say anything!"

"Uh huh."

"I didn't!"

"Whatever," she laughs. "Are you almost here?"

"No. I'm sorry. I wish I was."

"I wish you were, too," Elsa says, and lets out a long hum.

Jack waits. "Uh, Elsa?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to stay warm in a stalled truck in the middle of a storm."

Jack listens hard, hears fabric moving. "Holy shit, are you—"

"Of course I'm not."

"You're a terrible liar, Elsa."

"_Mmm_."

"_Jesus_, El, I'm going to drive off the road if you do this on the phone."

"Sorry, should I hang up?"

"Fuck no!"

"Language," she teases, trailing into a moan.

"Dammit, this isn't fair."

"You're the one who wanted to talk about it," Elsa points out, far too rationally.

"But I didn't think—"

"—and it's cold—"

"—I mean, you can't just—"

"—and I'm bored!"

"What am I supposed to do, huh? It's not like I can steer with my teeth! I have to keep one hand on the wheel!"

"I'll make it up to you when you get here."

Despite himself, Jack has to ask. "How?"

"Will you drive off the road if I tell you?"

"Maybe."

"I better not, then."

"Tell me, please," Jack says, stopping to listen to her whimper breathlessly. "What are you going to do when I get there?"

"To start I'll probably get your clothes off as fast as I can, because I'm still pretty cold and you're not."

"Cold all over?"

"No. Just my toes. Everything else is warm now."

"I bet. God."

Elsa murmurs agreement. "Then I suppose I'll take my clothes off too. Skin to skin contact and all that."

"Best way to transfer body heat." Jack manages to speak evenly. He's impressed by himself.

"Exactly. Then I—I don't know. I don't think I can do this, Jack. Out loud, I mean."

"Yes you can, sweetheart. You absolutely can. I know you're picturing it, just tell me what you see."

"I'd want to just… look at you for a minute," Elsa says after a minute, and just the tone of her voice makes heat coil down Jack's spine. "I haven't seen you since Thanksgiving and we didn't even get a chance to—"

"I know, I swear, Anna was watching every single minute."

"So I'd just. Look. And touch. I've missed you, I've missed the way your hair feels, and your chest, and hanging onto your shoulders—"

The zipper of Jack's jeans is straining against his dick.

"—and after touching you, I'd want you to touch me."

"Wait, I wasn't touching you already in this scenario? You don't know me as well as I thought. I would've been all over you by now."

"Hey, I'm making this up as I go."

"I'm just saying."

"Then I'd climb onto you, straddle you I guess."

"I wouldn't be opposed to that," Jack says. "What are you doing right now?"

"Masturbating, duh," Elsa says, completely unhelpfully. "We've been over this."

"Well, yeah," Jack says. "But I mean specifics. How? What feels the best?"

"_Ah_..."

Jack gives up. He takes a hand off the wheel and thumbs open his fly, gets his fingers on himself. "You're killing me here, please, I need—"

"I'm rubbing my clit and remembering how your tongue felt that day Anna and Kristoff went hiking, when you put me on the kitchen counter and ate me out until I came so hard I almost fell off, and I was so worried that someone would catch us but it felt so _good_ and I'm just pretending it's you now—" she moans again, louder this time, edging toward a whine. "Jack, I'm going to come—"

"_Yes_, I want to hear you, please—"

"Hey, wait, is that you?"

"What?"

"I see headlights! Is that you?"

"I don't—" Jack squints at the side of the road, and under all the snow there's a truck-shaped lump. "Oh, shit, yes, thank god, I see your truck."

"Jack, slow down! You're going to hit the guardrail!"

"So what?"

"So then we'll both be stuck!"

"Don't care." Jack slams on the brakes, pulls out his keys, and opens his door, letting it slam shut as he huddles against the wind, phone cradled to his ear.

"You're not even wearing a jacket? I'm getting cold just looking at you," Elsa says, and Jack walks faster.

"Don't get too cold, El, stay nice and hot."

"Yeah, but—" Jack reaches her truck, wrenches open the door, and shoves himself inside. Elsa is bundled into the back seat of the pickup, blankets tucked under her chin and cheeks still blushed red.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he says, in a twang to make her laugh, and leans across the seat for a kiss, catching her face in both hands. Elsa pulls back first, breathing fast, and smiles.

"Hey, Jack."

"Hi, Elsa." Jack climbs over the dash so he's next to her. "Let's get you warmed up." He ends the call. _Click._

"Please," Elsa says, and opens her arms.

_Click._

* * *

**a/n: do you guys like the new banner? any chapter requests?**


	7. Hindsight 20-20

**Part I**

* * *

In retrospect, Jack should have seen it coming.

Any sane person knows that you can only trust a fairy so far, and having one living in his house—or, okay, Elsa's castle—is the equivalent of signing a waiver to the security of his well being, not to mention the Queen's. He won't even mention the fairy dust. The bottom line is, Magical Hummingbird Tooth is the bane of his miserable immortal existence, and is the sole reason he's in this whole mess.

Maybe that isn't entirely true. But she _had _been the catalyst.

When Elsa warned him earlier this morning that some friends were coming over for the weekend, Jack should have taken the hint and promptly vacated the grounds instead of shrugging and shuffling back into his room in the private wing to go back to sleep. The wary look on her face had made clear the danger his manliness would be in, and that it was probably in his best interests to stay locked away until Monday.

He should have listened. Elsa had tried. He acknowledges this, after the fact. He admits that he absolutely should have seen this coming, or at least eaten breakfast beforehand. It doesn't make him feel any better, hunching over in the staff kitchen with a god-awful erection, but he'll give credit where credit is due.

That damn fairy. It wouldn't be so bad if Tooth was just an airheaded house pet, or even a succubus with no respect for his mental, and now physical, privacy. Oh no. The sprite is a meddler. She _knows_ things. Tooth pulls puppet strings from behind a curtain of plumy feathers and purple-lacquered claws. In her opinion, _everyone's_ sex life (or lack of) is her business.

Naturally, Elsa's friend Astrid's business (or lack of) had been the reason behind the meddlesome ovarian gathering of Saturday morning.

Jack will admit Astrid has been fighting a losing battle for the better part of four or five or way too many months. He's sort of embarrassed on Hiccup's behalf, because that idiot is his best friend, but Jack has no means or desire to defend the guy's severe case of cluelessness. The pair of them have been dating for nearly two years now, and to hear Astrid talk they've barely shared more than a peck on the cheek. Astrid can probably use all the help she can get.

Help, granted, that resides within _normal _boundaries of social protocol. Hell, even abnormal boundaries sound better than _this_. Shoving the two of them into a dark closet for a few hours would have been fine. Shoving Hiccup's face into Astrid's chest for a few hours would also have been fine.

An estrogen assembly across the hall from his room, led by the most conniving fairy on the face of the earth and created to plot the demise of his best friend's severe denseness via concocting a deviously delicious-looking chocolate poison, will _never _be fine**.**

There is no fairness in this world. The tray had been sitting in the kitchens, on the counter by the stove, in that sacred area where the cook usually puts rejected baking projects and leftover brownies for Jack to sneak between meals. He'd just stepped out of his room, because it sounded Elsa's posse was about to be served lunch, and he hoped to find something to snack on because he'd slept through breakfast.

It hadn't helped the poison in question was his secret favorite: chocolate truffles.

Even as he'd picked one up between thumb and forefinger, Jack wondered what the occasion was, never once thinking it had anything to do with the magic menace that lived under his roof. It wasn't Christmas. It wasn't his birthday. Dim bells had rung in regards to Valentine's Day, namely the ones marked yes, you're a glutton; Elsa would never give you Valentine's chocolate; are you eating these so she doesn't give them to a secret crush? You have no shame.

But they had been in the free-for-all spot! Like the bonus square in bingo. Like silver coins abandoned in the middle of the street. Like...whatever_, _he wanted it, it had called to him, and maybe he has no sense of self-control when it comes to food, ever.

The chocolate coating had still been wet, so he licked the edge along with his sugary-stained finger so it wouldn't drip on the counter. And then the world tingled**.**

It tilted down, very down, and then suddenly very up, making his pants uncomfortably tight. He'd looked down at himself, confused as to why standing barefoot in a seemingly ho-hum kitchen should arouse him whatsoever. Then, as Tooth's voice chimed its way to him from the adjoining bakery, he had abruptly been certain she had something to do with the ache in his pants.

"Don't you worry, Astrid! One bite of these and your Chief-boy will be all over you."

So yes, Jack should have seen this coming. He probably deserves it, somewhat. Presently, he stands stock still while glaring at the tray of chocolate. His blood hums in anger and arousal as he thinks of ways to kill a magical bird. Most of them involve cats and flea-baths.

To make matters worse, he hears Elsa's voice, and it sounds just around the corner. "I'll be down in a minute, I'm going to ask if he wants me to bring back anything," she calls. Oh, how nice of her. Unfortunately, unless the castle has suddenly acquired a super-sized order of limitless women dying to get in Jack's pants, with a side order of excruciatingly horny, he doubts Elsa will be able to deliver anything that can satisfy him.

That's what he tells himself, anyway.

"Okay, we'll wait downstairs!" The door to the main hall slams, probably due to Rapunzel's enthusiasm. The Queen's winter boots clank down the hallway, but stop short when Elsa spies him in the kitchen. Jack looks over his shoulder slowly, cautiously keeping his straining front to the cabinets and away from very blue, very attractive, and notoriously observant eyes.

"Hey," she smiles, jokingly chiding with a hand on her hip, and comes up behind him. He stifles a shiver as she plucks the truffle he'd licked a moment ago out of his hand. "No dessert before dinner," she sing-songs.

And just to be a twerp, she pops the whole thing into _her_ mouth instead, before he even has a chance to say anything, much less point out the fact that it's barely past noon, nowhere near dinner time. It's still messy and wet, and there's a hint of glistening chocolate at the corner of her mouth. He's disturbed with how much he wants to lick it off her.

Jack turns around to face her in a daze, watching Elsa's eyes widen slightly as she chews. A curious look crosses her face as she swallows. Then, he watches her world tingle and tilt, like his had a moment ago; mostly down, in her case. She exhales in a rush and crumples to the floor, hunching over and shuddering.

"What…? Oh _shit_**,"** she moans into her hands.

Jack tries to ignore the twitch in his pants. He does not succeed. Contemplates the benefits of the Queen of Arendelle and a side order of excruciatingly horny. He calculates the chances of getting out of this mess without taking off his pants, and fails to find the statistics comforting.

And he didn't even get to finish his truffle.


End file.
